Saturday, August 05, 2006
Wrongs Redressed
Several years ago, my sister and I suffered a grave injustice. We were turned away at the door of a Dave & Busters because my sister was not yet 21 and I was only 24, and could not therefore be considered her "supervisor." As streams of 8-year-olds streamed past us into the bar, accompanied by single miserable-looking soccer moms, we were told there was simply no help for us. Apparently, too many people were using skeeball as a cover for their hardcore underage drinking binges. We trudged dejectedly away, and as I recall watched Gosford Park with our parents instead. Clearly, a tragic night.
Last night, however, we righted that wrong, at least to some extent, with an exceedingly productive trip to the house of overpriced chicken wings and pop-a-shot. Now nearly 25 and 28, respectively, my sister and I were welcomed with open arms, and soon filled those arms with shoddy merchandise won at the shooting gallery. It turns out that, though I abhor violence in real life, I happen to have a great eye for virtually shooting up an old-timey saloon. And my sister tosses basketballs with the speed and precision of some member of the WNBA whose name I of course don't know. We topped out at 729 tickets, enough to "purchase" a Homer Simpson doll and a plastic back scratcher that says Dave & Busters on it.
I also instantly won a copy of Destiny's Child's "Soldier" on a game that only required you to hit a large button marked stop when two flashing lights lined up with each other.
The only downside is that it appears I am still not very good at House of the Dead 3.
Several years ago, my sister and I suffered a grave injustice. We were turned away at the door of a Dave & Busters because my sister was not yet 21 and I was only 24, and could not therefore be considered her "supervisor." As streams of 8-year-olds streamed past us into the bar, accompanied by single miserable-looking soccer moms, we were told there was simply no help for us. Apparently, too many people were using skeeball as a cover for their hardcore underage drinking binges. We trudged dejectedly away, and as I recall watched Gosford Park with our parents instead. Clearly, a tragic night.
Last night, however, we righted that wrong, at least to some extent, with an exceedingly productive trip to the house of overpriced chicken wings and pop-a-shot. Now nearly 25 and 28, respectively, my sister and I were welcomed with open arms, and soon filled those arms with shoddy merchandise won at the shooting gallery. It turns out that, though I abhor violence in real life, I happen to have a great eye for virtually shooting up an old-timey saloon. And my sister tosses basketballs with the speed and precision of some member of the WNBA whose name I of course don't know. We topped out at 729 tickets, enough to "purchase" a Homer Simpson doll and a plastic back scratcher that says Dave & Busters on it.
I also instantly won a copy of Destiny's Child's "Soldier" on a game that only required you to hit a large button marked stop when two flashing lights lined up with each other.
The only downside is that it appears I am still not very good at House of the Dead 3.
